Hey, Body

Hey, body. I don't like you lately. I don't like how things are going between us. I know that a working relationship requires trust, patience and love and we both seem to be unable to provide these. It's all about me, me, me, and you're all about, well, you're a bag of unresponsive, uninspiring flesh. Now what? I can't leave you! That is, I can't leave you without a high chance of killing us both in the process. 

You. Listen. I have been trying to eat like a worm this past week. Why are you still fat? Are you taunting me? Do you know how much cake there is in the fridge right now? I am really mad at you. I don't want to be bone thin (I'm reasonable), but if you will just be polite to take a step towards that direction, I will appreciate it. I'm not asking a lot from you. I just want five pounds off the scale, please.

What? Why am I so obsessed about being thin and giving in to the peer pressure when all that should matter is a healthy and happy outlook in life, free from insecurities about my weight? I wonder if you can hear yourself spewing out that crap. Only crazies who write self-help books and magazines for overweight-ish people spews out that sort of crap. You can go against the modern standard of beauty, be fat, eat all the candy, make yourself gastronomically happy. But in the end, that to-die-for pair of jeans will never fit your whalesque thighs.

To be fat is not an option, body. It's a sin. Jesus was never fat.